Date: Thu, 24 Jun 2004 16:00:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle
Subject: Seaward Plantation chapter thirteen
This story contains graphic but completely fictional
depictions of sex among men and men, and men and underage
boys and/or girls, and even nekkid women have begun
appearing. If this offends you, if it is illegal for you to
read or download this, or if you are under 18, please go
away.
Seaward Plantation
Chapter thirteen
Mark Appleby startled awake in the morning light, half
rising from the bedside chair in which he sat. Momentarily
disoriented, he soon recalled where he was. In the bed next
to him, the castaway from last night's storm was coughing,
struggling to rise, pushing himself up from the sheets on
one elbow. Appleby leaned forward to steady him with a hand
to his shoulder.
"Please, sir, calm yourself. I am afraid you are still very
ill from your misadventure yesterday. Is there anything I
can do for you?" Then he wondered to himself whether the
man knew English at all, for his Asian features bespoke an
origin far away from South Carolina. His question was soon
answered.
"Water, sir, please," croaked the man in a voice hoarse from
sea water and illness. Appleby quickly handed him a glass
from the bedside table which was ladened with medicines and
herbal remedies of various sorts. The man drank it quickly
and returned the glass with a nod of thanks. Then,
evidently making a tremendous effort, he flung the bedcovers
back and swung his legs out so as to sit on the edge of the
bed. But the effort was more than he was ready for. Even
sitting down, he appeared to swoon dizzily and clutched his
forehead with a hand. Again, Appleby steadied him with a
hand to the shoulder.
"I think it best for you to lie quietly, sir, you may be
very ill from the shipwreck and the salt water." The man
nodded, steadying himself with both hands clutching the
sheets beside him. He looked at Appleby again.
"Need to use your head," he croaked.
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"I need to use your head, please sir."
Appleby was nonplussed, and not a little ashamed that a
sexual meaning of this utterance flashed into his brain; but
no, surely the stranger did not mean such a thing! Then it
dawned on Appleby what was meant; the man was a sailor, and
was speaking in nautical jargon of a need to relieve
himself.
"Oh! I'm afraid it is outside, and you would have
difficulty walking that far in your condition. Here,"
Appleby said, pulling the chamber pot out from under the
bed, "can you use this? Let me assist you."
The man nodded and scooted to the very edge of the bed.
Appleby held the pot for him, and a strong flow of urine
began. It gave Appleby a moment to study the new arrival.
He appeared to be very young. His straight, thick, jet
black hair flowed down from his head in a mop that covered
his ears, just brushing his neck. The man had a heart-
shaped face, almond shaped brown eyes, a small, rounded
nose, and full, pink, rosebud lips; his features were
unmistakably male but had a girlish quality to them. A
long, thin neck led down to strong shoulders and a muscular,
boxy chest, lightly rippled abdomen, then a very slim waist
that was ridged with thin but clearly delineated muscles.
His pubic hair was a small patch of thick, black hairs that
waved wildly out in all directions. Despite his recent
physical trials, the man's penis displayed a slight morning
erection. Nevertheless, it was not terribly large, no
bigger than five inches, perhaps four. It sat above a full,
rounded reddish ballsack. The man's legs were strongly
muscled, but not very long. It appeared as if he would
stand no taller than Pan or Bacchus. Appleby was struck by
the color of his skin, the first Asian he had seen in the
nude and thus the first he was able to observe in this way.
The usual common expression spoke of Asian skin as "yellow,"
a description he had always found strange and a little
repugnant, yet Appleby could now see that it was no more
yellow than he himself was white, or Troy was black. This
man's skin was a sort of old-gold-and-tan with perhaps some
reddish highlights, a little lighter around the groin where
some sort of covering must have protected it from the sun, a
little darker in the genitals. All in all, even in his
sickened condition, Appleby found him exotically beautiful,
and his thoughts returned to the leopard-faced boy at the
Ashley Plantation.
These reflections brought a swelling to Appleby's groin,
which he resolved to master while the man--or boy?--was
still an invalid. The Asian finished urinating, shook the
last drops from his semi-rigid organ, then as Appleby
removed the pot and covered it with a cloth the man slumped
back over against the pillows sideways. Appleby helped to
lift his legs back into bed, appreciating their hard muscle
tone as he did so. He helped to turn the patient onto his
back, propped up against the pillows, and pulled the sheets
up to just above his waist. The Asian settled against the
pillows with a sigh, then looked at Appleby with a wan
smile.
"Where am I? my ship? my mates?" he croaked, hoarsely.
"You are at Seaward Plantation, an island off of Charleston,
South Carolina," Appleby replied. "I am afraid that your
ship is lost, sir, in the storm. And your friends..... we
found only you. I am so sorry."
The Asian man covered his mouth, his eyes wide in horror.
Appleby looked away to give him a moment to recover. When
he looked back, the man was staring into the middle
distance, seeming to see friends who were no longer there.
Appleby took one of the man's golden tan hands, lying on the
covers, and squeezed it, holding it in his own.
"I am so sorry," he said again. "We will look again this
morning, but I fear there are no other survivors." The man
nodded his understanding. "What was your ship, sir, and....
if I may ask, how do you come to know English so well? It
appears, if you will forgive me, as if you are not from an
English speaking country."
The man nodded. "My ship was the Duchess of Kent, out of
Liverpool. An English merchantman. I first learned English
from missionaries in my own country. Siam. Then I learned
more on the ship." Appleby nodded his understanding. Siam!
Well, not China or Japan, but at least he had the correct
continent. The man continued in a raspy voice, "My name is
Bundit Khunisthakhan."
"My name is Mark Appleby," he said, squeezing the man's hand
again. "You may call me Mark. How shall we call you?"
"Bundit, if you please. Are... are there others here?"
"Oh yes, you will meet them. How long have you been at
sea?"
Bundit paused, unsure what the question was asking. "The
Duchess of Kent was a month out of Liverpool, carrying cargo
to New York, then to the West Indies. I have been three
years serving at sea on ships. I am twenty years old, sir,"
he said, covering all the bases. Appleby nodded; the man
certainly looked more like a boy due to his small stature
and delicate features, though. Bundit suddenly coughed
raucously and held his hand to his forehead. Appleby
searched the bedside table in a panic, unsure what to give
the man that would help, wishing Portia had arisen. He saw
the bowl of liquid from which she was giving Bundit some
spoonfuls last night, and thinking that it could not hurt,
he fed the patient a couple more doses of the stuff. It
took a moment but seemed to help, as he laid back against
the pillows, a scratchy breath in his throat.
"Good morning, master," sounded two voices in unison from
the doorway. There were Pan and Bacchus, eyes wide at the
sight of this visitor from another planet awake and
conscious. Appleby was glad that they had had the decency
to clothe their nakedness with loincloths, but they had
nothing else on.
"Come in, boys," he said. "This man's name is Bundit. He
is from Siam." Both boys mouthed the man's name and that of
his country, looked from each other to the new arrival to
Appleby and back again in quick succession. "Bundit, this
is Pan," he gestured to the left, "and Bacchus. They are
part of the Seaward family."
If Bundit was an exotic revelation to the twins, their color
was nothing new to him, world traveler that he was. He
smiled faintly and nodded a greeting. At that moment
Cassius appeared behind the boys, clothed in shirt and
trousers.
"I heard, master," he said, and then nodded a greeting at
Bundit. "I am Cassius."
Bundit smiled back, wanly. Turning to Appleby he spoke
softly. "He calls you master; are they your slaves?"
Appleby smiled back at him, unsure of how to explain the
complicated truth of life at Seaward to Bundit. "Not any
longer; Bundit. They are my friends." That would have to
suffice for the moment. So much else could be said.... they
were his family, now.... they were his lovers. At that
moment Portia appeared also, clothed, brushing her hair back
with her hands. She flashed a smile at her brother and at
Appleby, then cast a worried look at Bundit.
"I gave him some of this," Appleby said, indicating the
bowl. "He felt ill."
"I should imagine he did," she said, looking at the patient,
then at the potion. "You gave him the right thing. But
now, out, all of you," she said, exercising her right to
command as a healer in a sickroom. The four males obeyed
her, although Portia and Appleby exchanged a quick smile as
he passed by and she brushed his sleeve with her hand.
Already clothed, Appleby went directly to Cass and Juno's
cabins, to report on developments during the night (but not
every development during the night!). Cass hurried off to
relieve Portia while Juno busied herself to prepare another
batch of herbal remedies. Appleby picked up some breakfast
provisions in the kitchen, then returned to the house where
he found Cassius and the twins already in the library,
studying the books again to learn what they could about
Siam, the twins reading aloud to their older friend. Portia
came down the stairs and ate a bite of breakfast with the
group, in the dining room, then left to wash up and change
clothes in the cabin she shared with Juno.
As Appleby was finishing his hurried meal, Priam and Troy
appeared at the door with Helen, the latter having slept
through last night's adventures. It was agreed that
everyone would return to the beach, and Priam and Troy
already had the donkey cart hitched up for carrying back
whatever they found. Yesterday's storm had cleared the air,
and the last of a few white clouds swept by in the high
atmosphere as the sun began to dry out the land. Bundit's
name and land of origin were shared, discussed, and marveled
at by everyone as they walked along.
The beach displayed a collection of objects washed up from
the wreck, but no bodies and certainly no survivors. The
sea was choppy but clear of any trace of life, death, or
wreckage. The thrifty people of Seaward began gathering the
things that were strewn on the beach, saving everything for
some possible use. Broken boards and lengths of snapped-off
rope could still be used for building. A couple of barrels
of salt pork would go into their stores, while some empty,
waterlogged barrels would be repaired and used for future
storage. A watertight box of pistols, powder, and shot was
cast high up in the sand, and bits of canvas and fabric
dotted the beach everywhere. Two seamen's trunks bobbed in
the shallows; upon opening them the contents were found to
be dry, but the large size of the clothing made it seem
unlikely that either belonged to Bundit. These were saved
to show the castaway in case he knew their late owners.
The big find was a lifeboat, half aground and upside down,
ropes snapped off dangling from either end but otherwise
whole and seaworthy. The party turned it over, discovering
oars, a folded mast, and a single sail still lashed securely
inside; evidently there had been no chance to put the boat
over the side in the storm--nor would it likely have fared
any better than the mother ship in those waves--and it had
somehow broken away from the doomed vessel. They all worked
together to pull the boat up past the high tide line and
then turned it back over to protect its contents from the
elements.
The party returned to put away their finds in the main house
and the storage barns, some agreeing to go back once more
that afternoon. Indeed, bits and pieces of wreckage would
continue to wash up for a week, perhaps being gradually
released from the submerged ship. All of it was useful,
some of it being trade goods such as wooden crates
containing bolts of cloth in good condition, but no bodies
and no more personal effects were found.
Everybody had their work cut out for them on that day,
recovering from the effects of the tempest. Losses were not
too great, although an entire crop of corn had been blown
down in the wind and some chickens were running wild here
and there, set free from their cages by the storm. The
wisdom of stocking supplies in waterproofed sacks and
barrels was becoming apparent, especially if Seaward's
population continued to grow. The women were nursing Bundit
around the clock, and the reports from the sickroom were
that he was much improved. In fact, toward the afternoon,
Appleby was pleasantly surprised to find the twins escorting
him, wearing some of their clothing, to the outhouse.
"Remember, he's still recovering," Appleby whispered
urgently, glowering at them, as they escorted him in. They
nodded, looking serious, but nevertheless both of them went
in with Bundit, although the men's side only had two holes.
Having a moment to sit and think in the study, it dawned on
Appleby that the next meeting of the South Carolina Militia
was to be in Charleston the following day, a meeting to
which he had been invited while at Ashley Plantation. While
he had no intrinsic interest in being involved with such a
group, it would serve his purposes, and Seaward's, to do so.
He also felt he should report the loss of the Duchess of
Kent to the proper authorities. Going out to find Troy, he
made arrangements for them, with Priam or Hector, to sail
into town the next day. Lists of goods to be procured were
made in consultation with everyone, and plans were set.
Everyone was tired as the evening approached, but Seaward
had been restored to normal as much as possible. Portia was
looking quite drained, though, as she had carried the
heaviest burden of nursing Bundit. Appleby found a moment
alone with her in the second floor hallway. Stepping into
the bedroom they had used the night before, they embraced
and kissed, but she was too weary to go further. Taking
pity on her, Appleby asked about Bundit's state of health.
His lungs and stomach were much improved, she said, and what
remained was a general need to rest and recover from the
physical beating imposed by the waves and wind. Hearing
this, Appleby announced his intention to watch Bundit
through the night. Portia fussed over it, but he was firm,
and in the end she agreed to return to her cabin. She
kissed him again, caressed the side of his face with her
hand, and was gone.
Finishing his correspondence and other work downstairs,
Appleby came up to the second floor for the night. He found
Cassius and the twins gathered around Bundit, sitting on the
edges of his bed, softly grilling him about every detail of
his life: how to pronounce his name, his age, his family,
his work on the ship, and on and on. The Siamese man was
replying in a soft voice, less hoarse from the sea water
now. He was propped up on pillows, the sheets up to his
waist, the lamplight playing on the golden tan of his boxy
chest and rippled abdomen. His jet black hair, now
completely dried of sea water, bounced as he moved his head,
its full body and backward sweep lending a girlish quality
to his features. Appleby felt a stirring in his groin as he
watched the new arrival.
"Time for bed, everyone; I am sleeping in the chair here to
watch Bundit tonight," said Appleby. Cassius rose, smiling
at the man in the bed, who returned a gentle grin. Pan and
Bacchus rose up off the bed but then each came up to Bundit
and, lightly brushing his hair back, kissed him quickly on
the forehead; then they were gone from the room. The Asian
man looked after them curiously, not with any sort of
distaste but as if he were trying to discern their
intentions.
Appleby left the room also for a moment, to disrobe and
change into his undergarments and a dressing gown for the
night. Returning to Bundit's room, he pushed two
comfortable chairs together for himself. Bundit was dozing,
still propped up on the pillows. Appleby was struck again
by the young man's beauty, the golden tones of his skin
accented by the lamplight, his features both delicate and
masculine. Leaning over, he laid a hand gently on the side
of his face. Bundit's eyes fluttered open; he looked lazily
at Appleby, then smiled and went back to sleep. Appleby
gathered in a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Then,
arranging the chairs as well as he could, he turned the lamp
down low and settled in for the night.
The night had turned cloudless, and the moon shone into the
room, moving a large patch of light slowly across the floor,
the bed, the two sleeping men. About midnight, Appleby
awoke from a deep slumber to the sound of a groan. He
turned in his chair to look at his patient. Bundit was
awake, sitting straight up, slowly twisting his torso from
side to side. Seeing the white man looking at him, he
grinned sheepishly.
"I am so sorry, sir, for waking you. It is.... it is
painful sometimes," he said.
"Is it your chest, your stomach?" asked Appleby with
concern, looking around for the pot with the herbal mixture.
"No, that feels better thank you. My muscles are very sore,
sir, from the waves. I think I was thrown through the air
when the boilers exploded, landing near a large piece of the
hull that was floating nearby. I am just a little sore from
the beating of the waves and wind."
"I should think so," Appleby said. "Have they prepared any
medicine that is good for that?"
"I don't know, sir," said Bundit, stretching once more and
wincing as he lifted his arms straight above his head,
revealing a small shock of hair in each armpit.
"Well.... how can I help? Would you like for me to massage
your muscles for you?"
Bundit looked at Appleby neutrally; he seemed to be gauging
the nature of the offer. Carefully, still neutrally, he
replied, "I do not want to trouble you, sir."
"It would be no trouble, I would be happy to do it if that
would help."
"Alright... alright, sir," said Bundit, and continued
sitting up in the bed, waiting, the sheets around his waist.
Scrambling around among the supplies on the bedside table,
Appleby discovered that there was indeed a remedy for muscle
soreness; it may have been applied when Bundit was
unconscious. A pot of sweet smelling thick oil stood there,
redolent of herbs and fragrant woods. He removed the top
and held it under Bundit's nose to smell, then sniffed it
himself. Both men smiled at each other, approving of its
scent.
"Very well... suppose you lie on your belly first, and I
shall begin," said Appleby.
Bundit stretched out on his belly with a sigh and Appleby
pulled the sheets all the way down. The man's bottom was
rounded and firm, slab sided with a wide, shallow dimple in
the side of each cheek. He bent his arms, turning his head
toward Appleby, who sat down on the side of the bed.
Coating his fingers with oil, he began rubbing the Asian's
neck, working on tense muscles, pushing his fingers up past
the line of dark, bushy hair. Lingering there, Appleby
marveled again at the wonderful variety of physical features
there are in the world; this heavy, soft bush was unlike
anything he had previously encountered.
Appleby's fingers then worked their way down into the tops
and then the backs of the shoulders, which brought soft
gasps and moans but no protest from Bundit. His skin was
silky smooth and with the oil it seemed to glow in the soft
light. Appleby climbed up onto the bed to get a better
angle for digging into the back muscles, but became
entangled in his bathrobe as he tried to get into a good
position. "Let me just remove this," he said, tossing the
robe aside, and clad only in his undergarments he straddled
the naked hips of the Siamese youth. Working slowly
downward, he kneaded the strong, smooth muscles of the back,
digging thumbs into tight spots. Slipping down farther, he
dug into the hollow at the base of the spine, then slid over
the firm hills of the buttocks and, with fingers on the
sides and thumbs just above the ass crack, began working the
strong butt muscles. Bundit moaned again, but in a
different register. He lifted his head slightly to look
back, then put his forehead down into the sheets. The pace
of his breathing seemed to pick up.
The oil that Appleby was using for the massage was running
in tiny streams down the persimmon colored hills of the
Siamese's butt into the valley of his ass. Appleby, caught
up in the sensual experience of the moment, ran both thumbs
through the bottom of that valley, stopping to scratch and
rub softly at the puckered reddish asshole. Now Bundit
moaned again, and could definitely be heard to breathe more
heavily. He moved his hips slightly, thrusting up ever so
slowly. Appleby slid down again and worked the long muscles
of the slim legs, barely brushing the ballsack with the tips
of his fingers as he pressed into the upper thighs.
Bundit's penis was straight up underneath him, and hidden
for the moment. Down the legs Appleby went, finally
massaging the feet gently. Rocking back on his knees and
toes, Appleby surveyed his handiwork.
"Bundit--do you wish to roll over?" he asked.
Silently, the Asian youth turned his boyish body gingerly
because of his continuing muscle pain, rolling over to lie
on his back, stretched out before the white man. His short
penis was extremely rigid, curving up and toward his chest,
the ballsack tucked up tight beneath it. The white man and
the Asian youth locked eyes and smiled. Bundit nodded.
Appleby began the long, slow voyage back up the legs. The
Siamese was now panting, and as Appleby reached the hip
joints he lightly grasped Appleby's wrists. Scooting up,
Appleby now sat astride the man's golden brown upper thighs;
he bent forward to work around the genital area and up the
slightly rippled abdomen, up into the muscled chest.
Leaning forward now over Bundit's torso, he looked down
directly into the lovely almond eyes. Keeping eye contact,
Bundit reached down and tugged on Appleby's undergarments.
The white man likewise reached down and pulled the garment
off, his rigid penis flopping out and down to bat against
the Asian man's stiff erection. They held that position for
a moment, looking deep into each other's eyes, reading there
the secrets that each wished to share with the other, and
then Appleby plunged down onto the Asian youth, rutting
fiercely, their precum-slick dicks sliding together.
A small voice in the back of Appleby's consciousness
reminded him that Bundit was not altogether well, and should
not be ridden too hard. Yet a fierce passion had possessed
him, a desire to make this different body with its different
colors, shapes, and textures his own. Perhaps a fuller
conquest must wait. Pushing up off of the youth, he scooted
up even farther, now straddling the muscular, boxy chest,
and brushed the Asian's rosebud lips with the slick head of
his penis. Pecking at the rigid organ like a bird, Bundit
took it into his mouth, moving his head back and forth on
the rigid red dick, his full pink lips sliding up and down.
His hands clutched the back of the white man's thighs,
pulling them back and forth in rhythm. Appleby balanced on
his knees and toes and clutched the youth's full head of
bushy hair, running his fingers through the dense helmet,
then he grabbed the headboard to steady himself. In and
out, back and forth, he face-fucked the Siamese, until from
far away in his belly he felt release coming. Closer it
came, and faster he pumped, and then it slammed through his
body and took him roaring into the face of the Asian youth
beneath him, moaning and shouting out "Bundit! O! God!"
and pumping rapidly.
Appleby squeezed out the last of his semen, shivered, held
his penis tight against the Asian youth's rosebud mouth,
then pulled out, trailing a silver streak across Bundit's
chin. The white man leaned down and kissed the youth's face
and mouth lightly, then quickly scooted back down his
panting torso. Falling down flat against the muscular
thighs, he took up the rigid reddish-tan penis into his
mouth and began pumping, taking it as far in as he could,
sucking furiously. The effort would cost the youth
something in muscle strain, but Bundit was beyond such
considerations now. Clutching the white man's long light
brown hair, he thrashed and cried out in an unknown
language, bucking his hips up and down, pumping for another
minute or two--and then came in copious spews of semen
belying his relatively small penis and testicles. Appleby
swallowed and sucked hungrily, taking up every bit. The
Siamese man collapsed, panting and moaning, clutching his
forehead. Appleby cleaned the still-rigid organ with his
tongue, then looked up the plain of gold and tan, slim flesh
to the beautiful Asian face.
"Oh, Mark. Oh, it hurts so much!" he cried, and Appleby was
instantly concerned and regretful. Pushing up on his hands,
he asked, "Bundit! Forgive me! What can I do?"
"Oh, Mark... it hurts so good!" chuckled the Siamese youth.
His beautiful face broke into a grin, his almond eyes
becoming mere slits, even as he continued to clutch his
forehead. Moans were interspersed with laughter, and soon
Appleby stretched alongside the beautiful young man, lightly
hugging and caressing him.
"Forgive me, Bundit. I could not help it," he said,
smiling. The Siamese nodded, rubbing Appleby's belly with
one hand by way of a blessing. Bundit's breathing returned
to normal slowly, chuckling all the while even as he moaned.
"I am still a little sore.... but thank you. Thank you so
much. I have done this... I have done this before on the
ships, you know," he said, squinting at Appleby beneath the
hand that he held to his brow, "but this was very nice, much
more special. Thank you," he said. Putting his hand by his
side, he heaved a deep sigh. Appleby rose, plumped up
pillows beneath the youth, kissed his rosebud mouth once
more, and pulled the sheets up over him. Bundit nodded and
closed his eyes. Appleby clothed himself in the robe and
undergarments not two minutes before Mama Cass knocked on
the door and entered.
"Good morning, Master Mark," she rumbled. "I am here to
take over the nursing." She stopped.... sniffed the air
suspiciously, and eyed her white master darkly. Appleby
clutched his dressing gown around him, shrugged, and looked
like Innocence on a pedestal, but he departed quickly,
Cass's frown following him all the way. Bundit snored
lightly like a baby.
Appleby stepped out into the bright morning sunshine and
walked the short distance to the cabin shared by Troy,
Athena, and Hector. Troy answered his knock, and gave him
an affectionate hug, keeping his arm around the white man's
shoulder as he entered the room. Hector was already at the
boat preparing it for the trip. Athena brought baby Apple
from her crib to show her off. Passing the infant for
Appleby to hold for a moment, she squeezed his arm
affectionately and smiled brightly up at him. Appleby
smiled back, noting the family resemblance to her brothers,
Pan and Bacchus. In a moment the infant began to squeal,
which made it time to return her to her mother and go out
with Troy to the Hesperus. Appleby and Hector greeted each
other affectionately. Hector pulled his master's ear down
to his mouth and merely whispered, "Good." Had Portia
already shared with Hector the news of their passionate
encounter? Appleby smiled back, grateful for all the gifts
Hector had given him, and hugged him quickly once again.
The three worked together to push the Hesperus off from the
pier.
A brisk wind took the Hesperus quickly across the short
expanse of sea and into Charleston Harbor. Appleby looked
in the general direction of Ashley Plantation's estuary as
they passed by, but of course it was too far inland to see
anything. The Hesperus passed the hulk of Ft. Sumter on the
right and then took up canvas as it approached the piers and
wharfs of the downtown area. Troy and Hector guided the
boat with their usual skill and it glided gently up to the
pier, where it was secured.
Appleby reviewed the plans for the day's visit with the two
brothers. Building supplies were to be ordered, either to
be carried back on the Hesperus or brought out in a day or
so to the island. One late addition to the list of supplies
needed was some ocean buoys to mark the dangerous reefs and
rocks that guarded the eastern side of Seaward--although
they would not have saved the Duchess of Kent in such a
storm. Appleby also ordered more preserved foodstuffs to
replace some of the crops lost in the storm. He gave Troy
and Hector money with which to purchase lunch, making sure
it was the exact change so that their ability to calculate
figures would go undetected. They also had to make sure
that all orders for purchases were written out on paper by
the white man, or simple enough to be delivered orally by
the black men, so as to disguise their ability to read.
Appleby felt again a disgust with the need for such
subterfuges, but it could not be helped.
The three went their separate ways. Appleby's first stop
was at the nearby port authority's office, to report the
wreck of the Duchess of Kent. He had brought with him the
very few scraps of official paper, bills of lading, and so
forth that had washed ashore by way of testament to the
ship's sad end. He also reported the single life spared,
and said that he would be responsible for Bundit's welfare
until he recovered. The officials said that some wreckage,
but no bodies, had washed ashore on the outer banks, and
that they had been awaiting some clearer news of what had
happened.
Appleby had a quick, light lunch at a tavern, then walked
through the streets in search of the Armory, where the
meeting of the Militia was to be held. Finding it easily, a
squat, square, imposing building of stone blocks, he entered
and found the meeting room. Colonel Gillam was organizing
papers at a table in the front of the room. He recognized
Appleby from the ball at Ashley Plantation and greeted him
warmly. Appleby was introduced around the room to various
dignitaries. As the room filled and it appeared as if the
meeting would start, he slipped to the rear of the room and
took a seat on the back row, meaning to watch and learn at
this event.
Colonel Gillam was gaveling the meeting to order when
Appleby felt a hand on his shoulder. Carter Ashley, having
just arrived, stood there a little breathless, smiling down
at his recent guest. Appleby rose and pumped his hand
vigorously. Then Ashley stepped aside, and there was
Robert, formally dressed in a suit. The boy's head was held
imperially high, but a grin and twinkle in his eye cracked
the pretentious demeanor when Appleby shook his hand, bowed
in an ironic sendup of Robert's formal posture, and quickly
stuck his tongue out and back at the boy (having carefully
looked left and right to make sure it would go unobserved by
others). Carter sat on one side of Appleby and Robert on
the other. Carter Ashley gossiped with Appleby under his
breath about the people of Ashley Plantation and their other
guests, while Appleby astonished Ashley with news of the
shipwreck. But on his other side Robert leaned his thigh up
snugly against Appleby's own leg, moving it in tiny,
sensuous motions. And, sitting with arms crossed, Robert's
hand was positioned to allow him to extend his fingers
unobserved to exert slight pressure on the older man's upper
arm.
The meeting was called to order. Guests were introduced,
Carter Ashley rising and introducing Appleby with great
ceremony. There were nods of greeting, and polite applause
rippled through the room. There followed the most tedious
string of reports from various worthies on the purchasing of
arms, on political developments at the local, state, and
national levels, on news of any heinous crimes or troubles
with Indians or slaves, and on and on. Plans were made for
various upcoming events. Then the floor was open to
questions and discussion; Appleby remained quiet, observing
who expressed which opinions, catching the general drift of
public sentiment and resolving to parrot that back to the
good burgers of Charleston whenever he could. The last item
of business was nomination of new members. Carter Ashley
rose and moved that Mr. Mark Appleby of Seaward Plantation
be considered for a commission as lieutenant in the South
Carolina Militia. The motion drew a second, and murmurs of
interest and approval, but the bylaws required that it be
voted on after a period of thirty days. The nomination was
entered into the minutes and placed on the agenda for the
next month's meeting.
The meeting was adjourned, and the group rose, milling about
in clusters of conversation. Appleby made sure he repeated
the strongest pro-South opinions he could to the men who
came up to speak to and congratulate him. As the men began
to leave, Carter Ashley shook Appleby's hand once more and
said that he needed to attend to one more pressing
engagement before returning home that afternoon. Robert,
standing nearby, spoke up at that point.
"Father, I have nothing to do until you are ready to return.
May I accompany Mr. Appleby down to his boat? Perhaps I
could show him the Swan on the way," he said, naming the
Ashley vessel. Carter approved, asking his son to remain at
the boat until his return, then hurried off to his
appointment. Robert looked Ashley square in the face, now
grinning conspiratorially. The boy took the man by the
elbow and led him out of the Armory and into the streets,
where they made their way down to the water.
The Swan was at a berth two piers away from the Hesperus, so
Troy and Hector would not have seen the boy leading their
master in that direction. The Ashley's vessel was
considerably larger than the Hesperus. As Appleby and
Robert approached her, three male slaves who had been
sitting on her deck rose up and stepped onto the pier where
they lined up in a row. They were evidently her crew,
wearing the Ashley livery, and they stood in some semblance
of military attention as their young white master
approached.
Appleby realized as they came up to the three that Rodney
was one of them. "At ease!" barked Robert, and the three
relaxed into a more natural posture, although remaining in
line. Appleby and Rodney locked eyes. Appleby nodded and
smiled at the slave, who returned the tiniest of nods and
the slyest of grins, being unable to greet the white man
more effusively. "You three," said Robert, officiously,
"here are some coins. Go buy yourselves some root beer at
that inn," indicating an establishment just up the street
from that pier, "and remain outside there until I come for
you. Mr. Appleby and I have some private business to
discuss." The three accepted the coins, thanking their
master, and were moving off when a fourth figure scrambled
out of the below-decks cabin of the boat and joined the
three adult slaves. It was the leopard-faced, exotic boy
whom Appleby had bedded along with his master at Ashley.
"Stop--not you, remain here," said Robert. The twelve year
old stopped submissively and awaited his master's pleasure;
but his eyes, carefully scanning his master's guest,
betrayed a recognition of Appleby. He cast a careful,
blank, guarded look at the white man, who returned a silent
but obvious wink. The ghost of a smile crossed the boy's
striking features, then he lowered his eyes. Rodney and the
other two men now departed, Rodney risking a quick backward
look, answered by another smile from the white man.
With no further need to assume authority over adult men,
Robert seemed to relax a little. "This is the Swan," he
said, waving his arm at the boat. "Come," he continued,
taking Robert by the hand and leading him through a gap in
the ship's railing and onto the deck. Robert gave Appleby a
very quick tour of the deck, and then plunged down the
short, narrow flight of steps into the cabin below. Appleby
followed, ducking his head, and Aaron the twelve year old
slave brought up the rear.
The space was cramped but comfortable, a long, narrow room
with two narrow couches along both sides and a wider couch
at the far end. Pillows scattered about gave evidence that
the couches could be used for sleeping as well if the Swan
were on the water overnight. A tiny door by the couch at
the far end led to the head, while behind them was access to
a small cooking galley as well as the hold and other utility
areas of the boat. Portholes let in light on both sides of
the cabin. Robert went halfway back up the steps and pulled
down a hatch, closing off the cabin to the outside. He and
Appleby stood then, looking at each other intently, while
the slave boy Aaron stood off to one side watching the two,
waiting for instructions.
Robert took two quick steps across the cabin and was into
Appleby's arms, holding him tightly. Appleby returned the
embrace, burying his face in the golden pageboy hair of the
fourteen year old. He moved one hand to the side of the
boy's face and tilted his head up. He swam right into the
boy's ice blue eyes for a minute, then let his gaze wander
over the freckled strawberries and cream complexion,
settling on the boy's bee-stung lips--which he kissed
passionately. Robert moaned softly, then pushed back and,
without comment or ceremony, began pulling off his clothes.
Robert nodded curtly toward Aaron and said, "You, too."
Appleby likewise began kicking off boots, dropping trousers,
tearing off jacket, shirt, and cravat.... and before long
all three stood naked.
Robert threw himself into Appleby's arms again, his erection
jutting upward. Standing, the two pushed into each other,
Robert grasping the man's muscular back, Appleby with his
hands down around the boy's rounded bottom, pulling it tight
into his body. Robert pushed up on his toes into the larger
man, sliding his penis rhythmically up and down in little
jerks against Appleby's belly which was becoming slick with
precum. Evidently the boy had had time to think about this
encounter, for his moves were sure and premeditated. He
broke the embrace and slid slowly to his knees, his mouth
working furiously all the way down to suck and bite
Appleby's nipples, lick the skin over his muscled abdomen,
tongue his navel, and pull his pubic hair with his teeth.
The adult's rigid red penis slapped the blonde boy in the
face as his knees reached the floor. Slipping his face
beneath the organ, he took each testicle into his mouth,
sucking so hard that Appleby winced and cried out in
protest. Shifting his attention, the boy's full lips moved
up and found the man's penis, licking it on the underside
all the way up. He grasped the rod with his hand and looked
up at Appleby through long, blonde lashes: "I want you like
this. I want to swallow it," he said, tensely, then took
the man's penis into his mouth. It was clear that Robert,
for all his experience in being sucked by his boy slaves,
had little or no experience in the reverse, for Appleby had
to whisper "no teeth" more than once, but the boy soon
improved his technique and his mouth rode the man's rigid
cock with increasing speed, up and down, slurping and
sucking.
Appleby buried his fingers in the boy's blonde hair, pulling
the head into his groin--but the man's eyes were elsewhere.
For Aaron had silently moved into position a few feet behind
Robert. The boy's thick, puckered lips were parted,
moistened by his darting tongue, and he was panting lightly.
The boy's thin, reddish brown, muscular tube of a body was
rigid with desire, his belly a little forward, his chest a
little back, his prominent rounded buttocks pushing out
behind, which gave him a slightly swayback profile. Aaron's
thin, dark penis was held in his hand and he was slowly,
slowly running his thumb and three fingers up and down the
shaft. The boy's dark, almond shaped eyes were locked onto
Appleby's eyes. White man and black slave boy communed
wordlessly in that gaze.
Appleby felt himself balanced between two erotic worlds:
His hands and dick told him he was being sucked by the
beautiful blonde boy who squatted on his knees before him,
but his eyes made a connection beyond mere flesh with the
beautiful reddish chocolate boy with the straight black hair
a few feet away. Appleby's passion over the next five
minutes was like a pot on the flames; it went from simmering
to boiling, and then to overflowing. With a roar, he bucked
his groin forward, pulling the blonde head in toward his
groin, never breaking the visual lock on the eyes of the
black slave boy a few feet away. Robert sucked and
swallowed desperately, not losing a drop as Appleby cried
out again, spewing sperm from his rigid penis into the
blonde's mouth.
The crisis passed; Appleby drew in ragged gasps of breath as
Robert sucked the remaining cum from his penis, then licked
the shaft up and down and around the head to clean it. Then
the boy stood up, his lips glistening, and reached for
Appleby's hands in both of his. He stood there, his slim
reddish organ painfully erect; it appeared as if he had not
thought beyond this point, or was unsure of what Appleby
would agree to do.
Appleby's view of the black slave boy was blocked by the
blonde beauty now. Thinking quickly, he led Robert by the
hand toward the wide couch or bed at the back of the cabin,
nodding back at Aaron to follow them. Appleby threw himself
on his back on the bed. "Any oil or lubricant?" he asked.
Robert nodded, and quickly turned toward a low cupboard to
pull out some hair oil, which perhaps he kept there just for
the purpose. Appleby wanted to give Robert what he guessed
woudl be a new experience. He quickly rubbed some of the
oil on his own anus, lying back on the bed and raising his
legs for the task. He pushed some of the oil into his own
love tunnel, then motioned for Robert to crawl up between
his legs. Appleby looked around the white boy and nodded at
Aaron, inviting the black slave boy to stretch out alongside
him on the bed. Grasping the blonde boy's throbbing penis,
he oiled it, then lay back again as he pulled the boy toward
him, raising his legs to cross them over Robert's back..
Robert's full mouth made an "O" and he breathed in sharply
as he realized that he was about to fuck his first white
man, after many similar experiences with black boys.... and
black men? Appleby did not know. There was little time to
speculate, as Robert's fourteen year old organ pushed up
against his anus. There was a momentary pain, then the
sphincter relaxed and the boy's organ easily slid into the
rectal canal. Supporting himself on the palms of his hands,
Robert's torso arched out over Appleby as his hips began
pistoning in and out, picking up speed. Aaron lay beside
them, looking from one to the other, slowly masturbating
while he breathed through parted, thick lips. A look of
wonder remained on the blonde boy's face, now mixed with a
frantic animal passion, as he moved toward his climax.
Unable to pace himself, the fourteen year old soon shouted
out, "O! God!" and slammed his groin forward into Appleby's
butt, held it there, pumped three more times crying and
moaning, slammed once more, and collapsed on top of Appleby.
Incoherent moans and cries of "ah! ah!" escaped from the
blonde boy as he heaved for breath. His penis plopped out
of the man and the boy rolled off of Appleby and to the
side. Appleby turned slightly to his other side to grasp
Aaron's skinny, muscular body, and he rolled the slave boy
into the same position that Robert had held but a moment
before. But then there was a breathless, panting cry from
Robert:
"No! No, not with one of them. It isn't right. They are
for our pleasure, not the other way around." Robert panted
heavily, but whether from the aftermath of his own orgasm or
his outrage that Appleby would let himself be fucked by a
slave boy, the white man could not tell. For a moment,
Appleby's look of amazement and incredulity locked with
Robert's look of scandal. Then Appleby simply turned from
Robert to the black slave boy who was crouching between his
legs. Appleby raised his legs once more and pulled the
twelve year old into position. His slim brown penis slipped
easily and without additional lubrication into Appleby's
well-fucked anus.
Robert gasped and flopped back on his back, staring at the
cabin ceiling, recovering breath. Aaron was now where
Robert had been, arched out over the white man, his penis
well up into the wet, warm rectal tunnel. Appleby now
locked his legs around the black boy's back, and the slave
began moving his hips--slowly, experimentally at first,
feeling his way in an utterly new experience. He cast
sidelong glances at his young white master, who continued
looking straight up at the ceiling, catching his breath.
Then he looked down at Appleby in wonder at this white man
who would permit such an intimacy.
Then the black boy simply exploded into a frantic pistoning,
all restraint and questioning put aside. Loud slaps from
his lower belly meeting Appleby's thighs and hips filled the
cabin, and a steady cry of "unh, unh, unh" came from his
full, parted lips. His cries increased in loudness as his
hips began drumming a steady staccato beat against the white
man--and then he howled and ground his groin against
Appleby's butt, twisting his torso and wailing like an
animal beneath the moon. He simply held his groin there as
his twelve year old penis shot its modest load into Appleby,
but the ecstasy he felt was greater than anything he had
ever experienced. Spent, he collapsed onto Appleby's torso
and lay there, heavy breathing interspersed with a high
keening sound from his throat.
Minutes passed in stillness, if not silence. Aaron was the
first to rise, perhaps worried about his standing with his
young blonde master. He withdrew from the bed and began
dressing again in the Ashley livery; then he quietly slipped
up the stairs, Appleby smiling at him as he went. Once the
black boy was gone, Robert turned on his side toward
Appleby, his penis leaking a thin line of watery semen onto
his thigh. Appleby turned toward him and put one hand
around the boy's blonde head, drew him close and kissed him
on the lips. Robert looked at Appleby with a range of
conflicting emotions moving across his beautiful face.
"Appleby.... Mark.... I don't know. It seems so... so
improper. I cannot imagine. But.... did it feel good? Is
it different?"
"Yes, Robert. It felt good. It was wonderful to be with
you... and wonderful to be with Aaron in that way. You
should try it." Robert smiled, flattered at his own sexual
attractiveness, but then shook his head in sorrow. He rose
from the bed and began dressing, followed by Appleby. The
two climbed up through the opened hatch and onto the deck.
Shadows of late afternoon were gathering, and they both knew
that Carter Ashley would soon return. It was time for
Appleby to go.
Appleby shook Robert's hand, holding it longer and squeezing
it tighter than formality required, looking into his crystal
blue eyes for what felt like a long time. Turning to go, he
stepped onto the pier and began walking back toward shore.
Passing a thick wooden upright, he heard a soft, whispered
voice: "Goodbye, mastah.... an' thank you, suh. Thank
you...." It was Aaron, sitting on the planks with his back
to the wood; he had been waiting for the white man there. A
feeling of tenderness, and sorrow for his situation, flowed
over Appleby, but he could not show it publicly in that
place. He reached down briefly to run his hand quickly over
the slave boy's straight, black hair and caress the back of
his neck, then he stood back up and smiled. "No, Aaron....
thank YOU. Until the next time." For the first time, the
boy's exotic leopard face split into a huge, wide smile.
Appleby turned and walked to the end of the pier, then over
to his own and back up to the Hesperus. The Swan was no
longer visible from there among the other boats and ships.
Troy and Hector were already aboard, waiting patiently for
their master. All were eager to be off, to return to the
haven of Seaward. They worked to cast the boat off, and it
glided into the harbor, adding canvas as it gained open
water. They shared stories of the day's adventures with
each other, although Appleby glossed over his experiences on
the Swan. It troubled him.
Sitting next to Troy at the tiller in the stern of the boat,
and away from prying eyes, Appleby put an arm around the
black man's shoulders and squeezed him tight. Hector was
occupied with the rigging ahead of the mast. Appleby looked
hard at Troy for a moment, who looked back at Appleby with a
wide, questioning grin.
"Troy.... Troy, are you happy being black?" Then Appleby
looked away and shook his head; it sounded so stupid. "I
mean.... I don't know what I mean. Would you make things
different if you could?"
Troy took a moment to compose his reply; how could he not
have considered the question before?
"Master.... I didn't like being a slave. I don't like
having to act as I do in Charleston. I know some servants
at other plantations are made to hate their color, how they
look. I see them in town, I know how it can be--although
Miss Lucy never made us feel like that. But me...." here
he stared out to sea, showing Appleby his strong, brown,
masculine profile. "For me, I really like it since you
came. And I like it being at Seaward. And.... I guess I
like being black. I think I look pretty good." He broke
into a boyish grin.
Appleby pulled his friend tight and kissed him hard on the
cheek. "Yes... yes, I think you look pretty good, too,
Troy. And I, too, am glad I'm at Seaward." The two sat
side by side as the Hesperus ran free before the wind,
making for a small island in a hostile sea.